


My Name Is...

by raebands



Series: My Name Is... [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assassin Training, Blood and Gore, Car Accidents, Depression, Divorce, Drug Addiction, Gen, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Past Character Death, Past Torture, Protective Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 18:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raebands/pseuds/raebands
Summary: A companion piece to My Name is Loki Laufeyson. Each chapter focuses on the ordeals of different characters and how they deal with it. Some are healthier than others.Specific warnings will be listed for each chapter, since they'll all have different types of content.





	1. My Name is Natasha Romanoff

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before I knew much about Natasha at all. I will admit that I still don't know everything there is to know about her past. Because of that, I'm sure that not all of this is canon-compliant. All the same, I still really like how it turned out, so I'm not changing anything! 
> 
> Warnings: Depression, Drug Addiction (depression meds used to numb), Major Character Death (canon; reversed), Past Torture (Assassin Training)

My name is Natasha Romanoff. My parents left me at an orphanage. I don't know where they are or what they're doing now. I only know that they didn't want me, and they left me behind. When They came and got me, I was terrified. Completely terrified. I didn't know who They were. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. You'd be scared, too, if you had seen Them.

I grew up in a horrible place. I was trained to be an assassin. But it wasn't really training. It was more like torture. They didn't care if it hurt. They liked it that way. The more it hurt, the more pain we would be able to sustain later. If we were hurt, we would be more prepared for later. When the 'real' pain would come. That's what They called it. They said that the pain we had to go through as young girls was nothing compared to the pain that we would feel when we were grown and out on the field. I trained as hard as I could, but it wasn't enough. They hit harder and harder. I can still feel the pain if I close my eyes. It hurts just as badly now as it did then.

It took years of training before They deemed me good enough to go out on a mission. That was the scariest thing I'd ever done. I killed several people. This was something I was used to, but I had never killed any innocent people before. All the people I had ever killed before that had been captives. People who had done terrible things. People who had killed other people. They deserved to be killed. The innocent people I killed on my first mission never did any of that. They had never hurt anyone. And I killed them. Ruthlessly. Without second thought. I killed them.

Years later, I was on another mission. There was no way that anyone could have expected what happened. I was just about to shoot when he spoke. The famous Hawk. He spoke to me. I had my pistol trained on his head and he spoke. His voice was soft and tender. When I dropped my gun he moved closer to me. When he saw my tears, he pulled me into his arms. I had never felt kindness before then. He was the first person to hold me close. He was the first person to speak to me in a kind voice. He got in trouble for it, but he brought me back instead of killing me like he was instructed to do.

Fury was most definitely not pleased. He had sent Agent Barton to kill me, not bring me back like some kitten he found on the side of the street. He had expected a report on how well the mission went. He trusted Agent Barton. Because the Hawk brought me back, that trust disappeared. It is my fault that the trust went away. It's because he saved me that Clint was nearly laid off. By laid off I mean that he was almost killed. You see, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't just fire it's employees. Not the ones like Clint and myself. When we are no longer of use, we are killed. We know too much. We are too powerful. If Agent Coulson hadn't been there for Clint, we would have both been laid off.

Phil was like my first father. He took care of me and helped me to get used to my new life. He settled me into life at S.H.I.E.L.D. and gave me a room close to his own. He was everything anyone could want in a father figure. I'm glad that he was there for me. For us. Later, Clint told me that Phil had done the same thing for him when Hawkeye had first come to S.H.I.E.L.D. That just increased my respect and admiration for Phil. It has continued to grow.

On my first mission for S.H.I.E.L.D., I insisted that Clint come with me. Fury agreed after a bit of persuasion. Phil was in my ear the whole time, reassuring me. He gave me guidance and advice. I miss him sometimes. I really do. He's still around, but he isn't as close as he used to be. He has the new agents to train and take care of. When we see each other in the coffee room, he smiles and nods, but his attention is always pulled away too quickly for my liking. I miss the old Phil.

When Loki came, I was filled with hatred. I was scared, but I would never admit it to anyone. I didn't have to admit it to Clint, though. He already knew. I could see it on his face. He was fighting the invasion on his mind. Loki had gotten to him first. Before I could. Loki took over Clint's mind before I even had a chance to help him. I hated Loki then. He's changed. He's a different person than we all thought he was, but I hated him then. That will always be my first thought toward him. Hatred. Nothing can change that. He hurt Clint, and when someone hurts Clint, they hurt me.

When Fury told me that Phil was dead, my heart stopped. It didn't just slow down, it stopped. The medical team had to take me in to the hospital wing. It didn't take me very long to recover. At least, that's what people thought. I recovered quickly on the outside, but in reality, I was still broken inside. Shattered. When I found out that it was Loki who had killed Phil, my blood boiled in my veins. I was filled with the need for vengeance. It wasn't fair that Phil had to die. Not that way. He should have died of old age, wallowing in the retirement of his life of work and living in a nice house. He should have died happy. Not in the steely hardness of the helicarrier. No one deserves that kind of death.

Clint was there to hold me when I was crying during the weeks after Phil's 'death'. He came in silently at night and he would slip into bed behind me. He would just hold me those nights when my body shook with sobs. Rumors spread through S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury was forced to tell us that we were being too risky. He knew that we were close, but he felt that we shouldn't be so romantically involved. I still remember the look on Clint's face when he figured out what Fury thought was going on. We were able to assure Fury that nothing else was happening at night. The rumors continued to spread. Let them think what they will. I don't know what I would have done without him to hold me all those long nights. I can only be grateful that I won't have to find out.

I'm standing here, in my bathroom, holding a bottle. I take the last pill in the bottle and wash it down with water. I shouldn't have taken so many. Now I'm out. S.H.I.E.L.D. only allows us to have so many of them. If we dull our senses too much, then we aren't able to fight properly. We have to be completely aware. We can't just dope ourselves up and curl around ourselves. We have to be alert. I've already gotten a few warnings. Fury goes easy on me, because he knows that I had it worse than most of the other agents. He even gave me more pills than the others ever get. I almost have three times the normal dosage. Sometimes I take too many and just numb everything. That's what I did last week. I took seven. For one night, I took seven of these pills. They're already extra strength. We're only supposed to take three a week. Any more is wasteful and unnecessary. I guess I'm wasteful.

I toss the bottle into the waste bin and walk to my bed. I try not to think of how hard the rest of the month will be. Fury won't give me more. I'll have to deal with these feelings. The feelings of self-hate. The loathing feeling I have toward myself. The guilt. The disappointment. The regret. I will have to deal with these all month, because I have already used all of my allowed depression medication. I know I won't be able to work as well as usual. My mind won't be as clear. I'll be more tired. I can never sleep without the little circles of peace. My mind is too busy. Too busy to sleep, at least.

I jump as a knock sounds at the door. I turn my head instinctively. Clint comes in without waiting for permission. He is holding something behind his back. I have no idea what he could be bringing. He has never come with anything before. He just slips in silently and is gone in the morning. But now he is acting very differently. He moves over to me. He brings one hand forward and places it on my shoulder. His eyes ask all the questions that his voice does not. When I see all of the questions, I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Clint's eyes soften even more. He brings out what it was that he was hiding. A bottle. I'm confused at first. Why is Clint holding a bottle? Then I recognize the bottle. It's the same as the one I just threw away.

Why is Clint holding out his medication to me? When it hits me, I feel my heart cave in. I lean against him, sobbing. Clint lets the bottle fall out of his hand. I can hear the pills bounce around inside of it. He hasn't taken very many, if any at all. He almost never does. He has a huge storage in his room. He says it's for him, but I know now that they're for me. He knows that I take mine too quickly. And he is willing to share his release with me.

Clint tightens his arms around me. His embrace offers more comfort than those stupid pills ever will. He alone can make me happier than taking a year's worth of pills in one day. I can hear him whisper something. I can't make out the words, though, past my own sobs. When I ask him to repeat, I can hear him clearly.

"I love you."

My name is Natasha Romanoff, and I am loved.


	2. My Name is Thor Odinson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor thinks back on how he treated Loki throughout the years, and plans to make up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor matures a lot through this chapter. I wanted to show how he changed from being a happy-go-lucky young man who was given everything to the sort of man that we see in the movies. Caring and wonderful. I absolutely love Thor. 
> 
> Warnings: Male Pregnancy (Loki), Torture, Blood and Gore,

My name is Thor Odinson. I am the eldest son of the king of Asgard. My parents love me. I grew up in a wonderful home with my mother, father, and younger brother. I always had all the attention that I wanted. I did not realize how broken that left my brother. I loved him, and I thought I showed it, but apparently I didn't. Because of me, he grew up feeling left out and hurt. If I had just shown him more attention, maybe he would not have gone to the extremities that he did to gain it.

I was never harmed. No one would dare hurt the crown prince of Asgard. No one lifted a finger to harm me in any way. If they had, then they would have been punished severely. Maybe even killed. No one dared to do it. Everyone was too frightened to hurt either prince. So we were safe. We never got hurt. At least, I didn't. I learned not long ago that my brother, Loki, was often bullied. He was never hurt enough to leave scars, or even bruises most of the time. But people still hurt my brother. If I had known, they would never have touched him again.

I spent a lot of time in the sparring fields when I got older. I excelled in hand to hand combat, and I wasn't too bad with swords, either. But my favorite weapon was given to me after years of hard practice. My father gave it to me. It was a hammer, called Mjolnir. It was far more powerful than any other weapon. And I was very skilled at using it. After a time, I did notice that Loki often watched enviously as he slung his daggers and fought with magic. He was not trusted with power like it.

After years of training with Mjolnir, I was trusted to go on a trip to another realm of my choice. Not only could I pick where I went, but I could pick who I could go with. I chose my closest friends, as one normally would. These friends were Sif, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg. Loki walked with us to Heimdall. If I had looked, I would have seen the longing in his emerald eyes. But I was only concerned with myself, so I did not. As we were whisked away on the Bifrost, I caught sight of a single tear rolling down my brother's face.

When we came back from that trip, Loki wasn't waiting for us as I was sure that he would be. I thought that he would be right there, his mischievous grin on his face, but he was not. He was nowhere in the crowd of people who stood by, waiting for the eldest prince to return with his friends from Alfheim. As I pushed through those gathered, I heard whispers. They were only whispers, but I caught them easily. I knew where to find Loki after I heard those whispers.

The knock wasn't answered. Loki didn't come to his door. That assured me that something was terribly wrong. I still didn't expect to see him lying on his bed, a blanket pulled up around him and a book resting on his rounded stomach. He turned his eyes up to me, but I hadn't said anything. I just stared. He pulled the blanket around him. He was trying to hide it. Trying to hide how much his stomach had extended. But I had seen it. My brother was carrying a child. When the look of disgust crossed my face, he lowered his eyes back to his book. Before I closed the door, I saw his shoulders shaking and the tears pouring down his face.

A month later, Sleipnir was born. He was a fine horse, but he had too many legs. It took him quite a while to learn to walk, but once that was out of the way, we couldn't keep him still. He always wanted to run. Once he was old enough to be by himself, Father decided that it was time Loki was punished for his actions. No one listened to his side of the story. I have to admit that even I didn't. I wanted him to be punished. I wanted that so badly that I held him down while they stitched up his lips. He stared up at me as his tears mixed with his blood. I only tightened my grip and shoved him further into the ground.

When he divorced his first wife, I let him stay in his room. I offered no comfort to him. They had split up after an argument. No one knew what the argument was about, but it had Angrboda storming out of their house, shouting that she would not come back. I had been on the way to congratulate Loki on the children that his wife was carrying. When they were born, they were sent to Loki. A wolf, a serpent and a half-rotted little girl. He named them Fenrir, Jormungand, and Hela.

His children were thrown into different worlds. They were not trusted. Jormungand was sent to Midgard, where he encircled the realm. Hela was sent to rule her own realm, where the spirits of the dead who were not honorable would be sent. Fenrir was kept for a while. He grew too quickly, though, and we chained him up to keep him under control.

I did not attend his second wedding. I was not happy for him. I did not care. I kept on thinking that if he deserved a wife, then he would have kept his first. I never thought that maybe it was her fault that they were separated. I eventually grew to like Sigyn, his second wife. She was kind and beautiful. When I found out that she was with child, carrying twins, I congratulated them. Loki was suspicious. I cannot blame him.

As I stand here, looking down at Loki, my heart aches. Maybe, if I had been kinder, he would not have tried to take over Midgard. If I had treated him fairly, maybe he would have stayed the trickster I knew when we were young. He would have been content to be my friend. But I did not do that. I did not show him the love that he craved so dearly.

Now he is here, rotting away in an Asgardian cell. Here he is, his hair unkempt, his nails jagged and broken, deep gauges left in his cheeks from where he was trying to pull off that muzzle. The muzzle that I am holding. The one that he keeps staring at. He is like a cornered animal, afraid that I will lash out and strike him. This makes me think of all the awful things that his guards must do to him every day. What horrors does he witness when I am not here?

I toss aside the muzzle and take a step toward Loki. He cowers down in the corner. He is truly terrified of me. Judging by the way his eyes keep flicking to the door, he thinks that someone else is going to come in, too. But I have not invited anyone to join us. It will be just me and my brother.

My brother. That is who this is. This man who is filthy and dressed in rags. This man is my brother, and he needs my help. He has needed my help for a while now. But it has taken me this long to realize that. To realize just how much I haven't been a brother. I have left him in the hands of these men who do not treat him like a prince, but like a common criminal.

I can see in his eyes the confusion as I kneel down in front of him and gently push back some hair that has fallen forward. When my hand brushes his chin, he pulls back sharply and I hear the sickening thunk of his head on the stone wall. I put my hand between the wall and his head, offering him a little bit of softness. It is evident that there is nothing else in the room to offer him comfort. _No blanket,_ I think as I feel the cold bite of the dark, damp room. _No bed._ Even the lowest of criminals are given something to sleep on.

I look into my brother's eyes and I can feel the hurt and the need there. He has needed someone to show him even the slightest bit of kindness. It shames me to think that it took me this long to show him this kindness.

I pull Loki up against me. He tenses at first, but relaxes quickly. Good. He knows that I will not hurt him. I hold him as close as I can, and after a moment, I feel his emaciated arms go around my torso. He is returning the embrace. My heart leaps with joy before I realize that this is the only hug that he has given me since... since when? I do not even remember.

I open my mouth to say something, but Loki shakes his head. He does not want me to speak. He is probably afraid that I will tell him about some punishment that he will receive. He does not know that I only wish to apologize. That all I want to do is say that I'm sorry for staying away so long. That I am sorry that I did nothing to stop the torture that he has undergone these past few months.

When I try again, Loki shakes his head again, this time more forcefully. I am starting to get frustrated now. He won't let me speak! How am I supposed to apologize if I cannot speak? I am about to just blurt it out when I hear him say something softly. I hold him tighter as he repeats the words. Again and again the three words pour from his battered mouth. I can feel my shirt getting wet from what must be tears. The last time he says it is very strong, as if he wants everyone to know what he is saying.

"I love you."

My name is Thor Odinson, and after all the things that I have let happen, I am loved.


	3. My Name is Steven Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve looks back on his life and deals with an argument between himself and a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't really any warnings for this chapter. Maaaaaaybe a mild form of PTSD? In that Steve is wary of things? But other than that, we've actually got a sweet chapter this time.

My name is Steven Rogers. I've been called many things in my life. Runt. Loser. Pathetic. The list can go on forever. I've been called some good things, too. Like captain. Hero. Friend. It's nice to have titles like 'captain' and 'hero', but they don't really mean anything. You can be a captain without being nice. Anybody can call you a captain, but not everyone can call you a friend. It takes someone special to be your friend. To like you, even if you're not very likable.

I've had some good friends. Bucky was one of them. He was one of my best friends. I still miss him every day. Peggy was one of them. She was more than a friend, though. I don't feel the same kind of pain for her as I do for Bucky. Her loss is more of a dull ache. Losing Bucky was worse, in a way. I think, every day, about how he would act if he were still alive. I wonder how he would feel about the world now.

In our day, it was so much different. The world now seems infatuated with the things that people would frown upon in our time. The way people dress is much different. The way people act is different. Things we would consider horrible back when I was growing up are viewed as normal and expected now. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.

There are many things that have changed since I crashed. I know that I have. I mean, I was just a skinny kid from Brooklyn before the serum. After it, I was strong. I was tall. Everything seemed smaller, in a way. I was taller than most other people. I wasn't the underdog anymore. Nothing was the same. My clothes didn't even fit.

I see the world differently after military training. I feel like I have to make sure that something isn't a threat before I'll have anything to do with it. It makes everything harder. People tell me to relax, to stop taking everything so hard. But it's natural to me.

Maybe it's so natural because of all the rough things I've gone through. Red Skull was no fun. I lost a lot because of him. I lost bits of myself. He angered me to no end. I had never hated anyone so much. I've hated people since, though. There are different kinds of hate, though. There are the kinds of hate that aren't strong. Then there are the kinds of hate that burn inside you Sometimes I hate myself. Those times aren't so often now, though. I've hated people on all of those different levels. I've only ever hated one person as much as I hated Johann Schmidt. That person was Loki.

I say 'was' because I don't hate him anymore. He's practically one of us, now. He attempted to take over the world, yes. But after the truth was exposed, we accepted him into our group. I'd even call him a friend now. It's a big change from enemy, but he deserves it. He's done nothing permanently damaging, and he's actually helped us. So yes. I call him friend.

All of the Avengers are my friends. Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Tony, and Thor are all my friends. We all do stuff together all the time. Sometimes we watch movies, sometimes we just sit around. I can always be myself around them. I can talk to them if I need to. Clint's good at keeping my secrets. Bruce is good for helping me keep my sanity. Natasha makes me feel like a real person. Thor can make me laugh no matter what mood I'm in. Tony's a bit more complicated than the others. He's a good friend, for sure. But he's a bit harder to explain. We often pick on one another, but we know it's all in fun. He calls me an old-timer, and I'll call him a tech-head. We can get into pretty bad arguments at times. Sometimes, we don't talk to each other for days. I guess that's how real friends are. You may get mad at one another, but you always bounce right back.

I'm on the sofa in the main sitting room, flipping through the channels. There's nothing good on. There's absolutely nothing good. I think about turning on Netflix, but I don't really feel like getting up. Instead, I just turn off the television and stare out at nothing.

Most of the other Avengers are gone. Clint and Natasha are off on some mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. Bruce is at Loki's house with Thor. I'm not really sure why they're there, but they are. I'm here with Tony. All alone. And a few hours ago, we got into another fight. Neither of us has said anything since. I came in here, and he went to his computer room with the music turned up so loud that I could hear it.

I can't help but wonder if this time, things won't mend like they usually do. We had both said some pretty bad things. Some extremely hurtful things had been said. I know that I didn't mean any of them. I had meant them when I said them, but I didn't _really_ mean them. They were only said so that I could hurt him. But I don't want to hurt him. He's my friend. He's one of my closest friends. But I wanted to hurt him. Judging by the things he said, he wanted to hurt me, as well.

I'm almost certain that he's in his room, thinking about what had happened. He's probably been thinking about it for a while now. He says things that he doesn't mean all the time. And not just to me. He says some pretty rough things to all the Avengers. They all take it pretty easily. I'd like to say that I usually do, too. That's not the case, though. He grates on my nerves, and his words are like salt rubbed into an open wound. He's a jerk most of the time. But we all deal with him. Because, like all people, he has a good side. I try to remember his good side now. I can see it. I know it's there. But the memory of his words comes floating back.

I find myself chewing the inside of my cheek, holding my breath and expelling it in infrequent burst through my nose. I'm still angry at him. But I know I shouldn't be. I know he didn't mean those words. He uses them as protection. Same as Loki. They both use their cruel words to hide their feelings inside. Their angry words come out to play when they get hurt.

The thought halts everything. When they get hurt. I must have hurt Tony in some way. In a real way. This time, something was really bad about something I said. It must have really hurt him. Usually our little spats aren't this bad. Usually we just avoid each other for a while. He usually goes into his computer room, yes. I usually go to my bedroom. But we almost never try to forget what happened by doing something else. I know for a fact that he can't focus when he's angry. He probably just sits in there and stares at nothing, most likely thinking about what happened. It's the same thing I do. I usually sit down after we argue, and I think about what I said. I think about how much I wish I could take it away. But this time I turned on the television. I tried to distract myself. I didn't want to think about it. I knew I really hurt him this time. And I know that he really hurt me, too.

I look over at the door as Tony comes in. He looks terrible. He holds himself more stiffly than he usually does. He walks past the sofa and into the kitchen. I hear the coffee maker come on and the smell of my favorite coffee drifts into the room. Caramel. He doesn't even like caramel coffee.

I can hear him opening the refrigerator. A moment later, it opens again and I hear the sound of a mostly full milk jug going back in. He doesn't like milk in his coffee, either. He takes it black. So what is he doing?

The clink of a spoon against the inside of a mug reaches my ears and I guess that he's stirring in sugar. After a minute, I smell another cup of coffee brewing in the Keurig. This time it smells like Foglifter. Tony's favorite.

This must be his way of apologizing. Getting coffee. I have to admit, it's not a bad way to do it. It most certainly isn't the best. But it isn't the worst, either. Either way, it's a start. A good start considering what he said.

A few minutes pass and he comes in to sit beside me. He slides over what I assume is my cup and takes a sip of his own. Neither of us look at the other. I stare down at my coffee for a moment before lifting it up and taking a long drink. He's made it just how I like it. Amazing. No one else has ever been able to make it how I like it best.

I look over at him after that and find him staring at me over his own mug. I can see the grin crawl across his face in the crinkles by his nose and eyes. I can't help but smile myself. I know he's forgiven me, and I'm pretty sure that he knows that I've forgiven him. Because that's what friends do. We have arguments, but we always spring right back up.

I laugh slightly at Tony's words, and I understand what he means. He doesn't mean it romantically. He means it like a friend. Almost like a brother.

"I love you."

My name is Steven Rogers, and after what I said, I am loved.


	4. My Name is Bruce Banner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's turn to look through his life and what he's done. The poor man's been through so much. This chapter is pretty sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a lot of reading to help me write this chapter all those years ago. As with Natasha, I didn't know a lot about Bruce, so I asked other people and read wikipedia articles. It isn't perfect, but it's serviceable. 
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide, car wreck, and miscarriage.

My name is Bruce Banner. I was raised in a halfway loving home, as a halfway normal kid. My mom did all she could for me, but my father was a different story. I did fairly well in school, getting the highest grades in my classes. I was particularly interested in sciences and math. My mother was glad that I was able to do so well in school.

When I got into high school, I started focusing my attention to science. I took all the science classes I could, and made the highest grades. I didn't have very many friends, but the ones I had supported me through everything. They helped me with my studies, and encouraged me. They were there when my mother passed away. They helped more than my father, who started drinking more and more. I didn't see much of him after that. I delved further into my studies and got a scholarship to an amazing college. My life changed forever after I went to this college.

While I was there, I met a woman named Betty. She was smart, pretty, and funny. Needless to say, I fell in love with her. We took many classes together, since we had the same interests. After college, we got married. She was the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. I'll admit that I'm more than a bit biased.

A few years after our wedding, I found out that Betty was going to have a baby. One day, on our way to the doctor for her check up, we were in an accident. The ambulance sped away with Betty, leaving me behind. I wasn't hurt. Not physically. But it felt like my heart was being torn in two. I couldn't believe what had just happened. My wife, my _pregnant_ wife, might die. And I wasn't there with her. I might not be able to say goodbye.

I was able to go to the hospital a little over an hour later. When I entered Betty's room, I found her pale and still. She wasn't dead, though. She was still breathing. The doctor told me that she had lost the baby in the wreck, but that she would be alright. I stayed with her until she was able to leave the hospital.

We mourned the loss of our baby for months. Nothing felt right again for the longest time. Finally, we were able to get back in the groove of life. I got a job at a laboratory, where we studied steroids and things. Betty was a science teacher. We got back into the rhythm and tried to forget about the baby.

I made some bad decisions, and after a little while, Betty and I separated. I immersed myself in my studies, keeping my mind off of her. The dull ache couldn't be helped, though. Nothing could stop the pain that I felt every time I heard of her, or saw one of her pictures. I couldn't keep myself from thinking of her. She was my life.

A few months later, my colleagues and I found a way to replicate the Super Soldier Serum used on Captain America so long ago. I was the only one willing to see if it worked. Everyone else was too scared.

It turns out that it wasn't such a great idea to try out the Super Soldier Serum. It didn't work. I felt angry, but there was no physical change. I felt like I had to hit things, like everything was against me. My friends tried to calm me, but it only made me more agitated. I went back home after the test. I couldn't calm down. Of course, Betty took that night to come visit.

Just seeing her caused my heart to thud even faster, though not in the way it should. It made me angry. It made me want to tear something apart. When she tried to come over to me, I blew up. I could feel my body changing, getting bigger. The muscles stretched and my clothes were ripped, though, by some miracle, my pants stayed mostly intact. I could see the fear in Betty's eyes as I became so huge that I shoved furniture aside. I was so tall now that I had to bend to keep my head from going through the ceiling. But I wasn't just tall. I was huge. I took up most of the room. When she tried to speak, I smacked her to the floor. She looked up at me in terror. It is a look I will never forget. She ran out after that, leaving me alone. I had never been more grateful for the silence.

I ran away the next day. Or rather, I flew away. I bought a ticket for the first flight to Africa. I needed to be away from everything. I couldn't stay in the U.S. Not after what happened. If Betty told anyone, and I was sure she would, someone would be after me. I thought it would be best to remove myself from the country. I didn't know that there was an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D., or that they would track me down and attempt to capture me. How very wrong I was.

It turned out that there was indeed an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D., and that they did indeed track me down and attempt to capture me. I say attempt, because it didn't go so well. Not for anyone involved. I flipped out and broke a few houses while I was trying to escape. S.H.I.E.L.D. never came after me again after that. Another team did, though. They called me a monster, and I had to agree that I was. I had killed people, when all I was trying to do was help. I didn't want them to kill me, though. I wasn't suicidal. Yet.

After the first run-in with General Ross, Betty's father, I got low. Real low. I felt that I needed to rid the world of myself. But I didn't want anyone else killing me. I knew that when I was in danger, the Hulk, which was what I decided to call my other half, would take over and I would lose control. But I thought that if I were to start it, maybe I'd be able to complete the task. Maybe I could get rid of myself. Maybe I'd be able to relieve the world of the horror that I'd brought into it.

I was wrong. Nothing I could do would get rid of him. Turns out he doesn't work that way. He will always get his way. Always. He doesn't take anything else. I put a gun in my mouth, no other idea coming to mind. As I pulled the trigger, I could feel myself changing, like I had before. My skin stretched and stretched until I was pretty sure that I was bigger than I had been before. Then, my larger self, the Hulk, unceremoniously spit the bullet out onto the ground in front of me. Before I knew what was happening, I was back down to my normal size. I had no idea what happened for a moment. I was able to figure it out, though, after a bit.

After that day, I turned everything around. I started helping people around me. I opened up a little hospital in my house. I didn't expect the immense number of people that came to my door after that. A lot of the cases were small; a child with the flu, a lingering headache, nausea. Then, when people became aware of my medical abilities, more and more people came, with worse and worse diseases. I did all I could for them, and I was able to cure most everybody who came. I had heard more 'thank you's in one month than I had the rest of my life.

I was able to continue this for years, but eventually General Ross' group found me. I went to Calcutta then. There, I thought, I would be pretty well removed. It turns out that I wasn't removed enough. A little while after I set up a hospital there, a young girl came to me, saying that her father was sick. I followed her to where she said her father would be. She had actually led me straight to a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Natasha Romanoff. She was nice enough, I suppose, not threatening me or anything. She convinced me to go with her back to the helicarrier. I was to track down the Tesseract, a mysterious cube that someone called Loki had stolen.

I'll never forget that week. It was insane. We fought Loki and his army, lost lots of lives, and broke plenty of buildings. But we also saved the world, sent Loki back to Asgard, and had shawarma. It was gross.

It has been three years since that week. Three long years. We've had fun, the Avengers and me. We haven't had any other world threats, thankfully. We usually take care of the little things now, like shortages of cheese in the fridge. Steve hates that. We also accepted Loki into our little group. He's changed. A lot. Way more than any of us thought he would. I mean, I knew he was quite different from the Loki who tried to take over Manhattan, and then, the world. But I didn't know he could be so funny and nice. I'm glad he is.

I'm sitting in my bedroom now, hunched over on my bed. There's nothing I can do to stop the painful ache that entered my heart this morning. I was out shopping. For cheese. And I saw someone who I thought I would never see again. It was Betty. She has changed a lot. Sad, dull orbs took the place of her bright, shining eyes that I used to see every day. She was quiet and looked heartbroken. I couldn't help myself. I walked up to her and whispered her name. She jumped and looked up at me, startled. She backed away, and I let her. She didn't seem to recognize me. I wanted to tell her that it was me. That I wanted to be able to hold her again. That I still loved her. But she backed away, fear in her eyes. She was scared of me. It broke my heart. I didn't think that could happen more than once.

Now I'm alone in my room. Everything is quiet. I have an old picture of myself and Betty in my hands. It was taken on the day we found out that she was going to have a baby. We were so happy...

I look up at a knock at the door. I slide the picture onto the bed beside me and call for whoever it is to enter. I am slightly surprised when Natasha slips in, silent as ever. I am even more surprised when she comes over to sit beside me. She puts her head on my shoulder and puts an arm around me. We just sit there for a while, no words needed. She is a calming, soothing presence for me. We've gotten a lot closer over the years. She supports me when I need it, and I try my best to do the same for her. She usually goes to Clint, but she is still always there for me when I need her to be.

After a long moment of quiet reassurance, Natasha looks up at me. Her breath is barely a whisper, but it is still audible in the silence of the room.

"I love you."

My name is Bruce Banner, and even though I'm a monster, I am loved.


	5. My Name is Clint Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an argument, Clint seeks out some solitude and thinks through everything that has happened to him and what he's done throughout his life. It's not all pretty, but it's his life. 
> 
> Thor's a good friend, even if he is a bit annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint's done some bad stuff, okay? Poor thing. But he's really a good guy. And that needs to be seen. 
> 
> Warnings: Past deaths of parents,

My name is Clinton Barton. I was raised mostly in a circus. My parents died after my drunk father lost control of their car and crashed into a tree. My older brother, Barney, and I were sent to an orphanage. We stayed for a few years, but then we ran away to join the Carson Carnival of Travelling Wonders. I'm not sure what led us to do that. Maybe it was because we had always enjoyed seeing performers like them, or maybe it was because they would be leaving; a good way to get out of town. Either way, that's where we went. I was trained by two of the performers, the Swordsman and Trick Shot, to be a master archer. It was pretty fun, and I was good at it. After a time, I found out that the Swordsman had been embezzling money from the carnival. Before I was able to report him, he not-so-nicely got me out of the way. This was done by beating me nearly to death and leaving me. I've seen worse. He got away, and I haven't had to deal with him since.

After the incident with the Swordsman, my relationship with Trick Shot pretty much evaporated. It's not that he agreed with what the Swordsman had done, but we just stopped talking with one another. Barney got sick of the circus after another year or so, and left. He joined the army, asking me to do the same. At the time, I had declined. But later, I changed my mind. When I got to the bus station, where Barney was going to be, I found that the bus had already left, taking my brother with it. We didn't talk after that, and grew apart. I haven't seen him since, either. I miss him a lot, but I have a new life now. I'm not sure that I would, if Barney was here. I think that I'd feel tied down to my old life, if he was still around.

I was part of a couple other circuses after that, having refined my skills as an archer. I made a name for myself as a star marksman, going by Hawkeye. While I was still working for one of the circuses, I saw a man, a hero, called Iron Man, at work. He was saving lives. That's when I was inspired to become a costumed superhero. I had heard about them, but until I saw Iron Man, I thought you had to be some sort of mutant or alien. But Iron Man was a regular man. A genius, but a regular human being. He had built on his genius and created a suit that he could use to save lives. I didn't have a special suit, but I did have a talent.

My first night out didn't go so well. People thought I was a thief, and they accused me of being a criminal. I was on the run from then on, doing my best to keep from getting caught. I met a woman called the Black Widow during this stage of my life. I fell in love with her. I still love her. Unfortunately, back then I was blinded by my love. I didn't care that she was a spy for the Soviet Union, and I didn't care that the technology that I was helping her steal was created by the same man who inspired me to become a hero in the first place.

We fought with Iron Man, or Tony Stark, a lot. I lost count of the times we were pitted against him after a while. During one of these battles, the Black Widow, or Natasha, as I had been calling her for a while, was badly injured. I ran from the fight, something I hadn't done before that. I had to do it, though, to keep Natasha alive. I left her alone for barely a minute; turning away to make sure it was safe to rest for a moment. When I turned back, she was gone.

I did what I could after that, getting little jobs to pay for what I needed. I didn't get very many jobs at first, but after a while I gained a reputation. I got more and more jobs, and eventually I was able to pick which ones I wanted to do. It was nice being able to choose who I was going to kill. Sometimes I was comfortable enough to even just not have a job for a while. That was also nice. Going a week without killing someone is always good, even if they are technically 'bad guys'.

After a while, I received a call from an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. They wanted me to join them, and hunt down villains alongside them. I was informed that I was too dangerous to be left to my own devices and that if I didn't join them, the threat would be removed. Needless to say, I agreed to join them.

After a few months of working with S.H.I.E.L.D., I was given a job to hunt down and kill the woman that I worked with before. Natasha Romanoff. She had been killing innocent people, working for some other people I've never heard of. I didn't want to have to kill her, but if she was really doing all the things that they said that she was, she needed to be taken care of. When I got to her, I saw that while S.H.I.E.L.D. was right in saying that she had been killing people, she didn't seem to be fully aware of what she was doing. It was like dangerous ballet. She was graceful, but I had been trained at S.H.I.E.L.D. and I was much better in combat than I had been before. I was so much better, in fact, that I was able to take her out. Instead of killing her like I had been told to, I just talked to her until she stopped trying to kill me. I hugged her, telling her that she would be okay. She would be taken care of. She would have freedom. When she finally caved in and started crying, I took her back to S.H.I.E.L.D. They were, expectedly, pretty pissed off at me for doing this. Before long I was pardoned my offense and Natasha started training as an agent, like me.

When her training was completed, Natasha and I worked together again. It was different, though. I felt like I could trust her more. Being rooted in the same organization did that, I think. We both trusted each other more since we were working for people other than ourselves. We had to report to the same people.

Agent Coulson brought us closer, too. He was the head of our department, so we both saw a lot of him. The three of us were like a little family. He told us later that he not only enjoyed working with us, but he found our cases interesting, as well. Instead of treating us like we were some messed up kids, like a lot of the other agents, he treated us like people with stories that needed to be told. He treated us equally. One wasn't better or more interesting than the other. We weren't better or worse than the other agents. We were just different.

When we lost Phil, it was like our world came crashing down. Neither of us could function properly for a week or five. We slept in the same room for a while, clinging onto each other. We were told off for it, since most of the other agents thought that more was going on. We eventually convinced Fury that we just needed one another for a while. We were allowed to sleep together after that, no questions asked. The other agents teased us and murmured when they thought we couldn't hear. But the rumors were always easily audible, even with my hearing aid.

Loki's stupid stunt took Phil from us. A part of me will still hate him for that. I've mostly forgiven him, but Phil is a touchy subject. Loki has tried to apologize to us, and I have to say that it did help a bit. The pain is a little less, but it didn't make it right. We've all forgiven Loki to some extent, but Thor is the only one who fully trusts him. We all trust him not to kill us at night. He stays in the tower with us, and hangs out with us. But yeah. Only Thor really trusts him.

Right now I'm in my hiding place, a.k.a. the air ducts. I have just been informed by none other than Natasha that I didn't do anything to help at all during the Chitauri invasion. Ouch. Considering I found their weaknesses, saying that I did nothing is kind of a huge lie. My knees are pulled up to my chest and my chin rests on top of them. I don't want to talk to anyone. It sounds kind of teenager-y but I really don't want to talk to anybody right now. I'm too mad.

I can hear the others calling my name as they walk around the tower. I didn't tell anyone where I'd be, and they haven't figured it out yet. I don't know how many times I've been able to find sanctuary in the cool space of the air ducts. What makes it even better is the fact that all the noise made by the air rattling through masks any sound that I might make. I've hidden up here a few times when I needed a good cry. I asked JARVIS before not to tell the others where I am when I'm up here, so I know that he won't give me away, either.

I take a deep breath and hold it in as I hear the others coming this way. Tony is whining, begging the others to just shut up and leave me alone. It seems almost like he knows I want to be alone, but after I think for a moment, I know that it's only because he doesn't want to have to walk around with them. He doesn't really care about me that much. They finally leave after a while. Natasha sounds pretty upset about what she said, but I still don't want to talk to her. I don't even want to _see_ her - at least not for a few hours.

I am left to my peace and quiet after they finally leave. I try to think of other things, but my mind just keeps going back to how _angry_ I am. It isn't fair that Natasha would accuse me of doing nothing to help. I know that I helped; she knows that I helped; every one of the Avengers knows that I helped; she has no right to say that I didn't.

I get about half an hour to myself before the sound of someone climbing up into the vent a little ways down pulls me from my thoughts. My brows furrow as I look over. I can't see his face, but I'm going to guess that it's Thor judging by the long blonde hair that pokes its way up into the duct. I turn away so that my back faces Thor. He doesn't seem to get the hint, though, and he struggles his way up into the duct. A minute later he's clambering over to me, thudding and dinging all the way. Even the air clattering through the metal can't hide how much noise he's making.

He plunks down beside me, sending a resounding ding through the entire duct. I roll my eyes and huff. Thor still doesn't get the message, and he looks over at me expectantly. I just shake my head. I'm not talking. Nope. Not at all. I can feel Thor's eyes on me for what seems like hours on end. I know he wants me to say something, but I'm really not going to. This goes on for several more minutes before he scoots a little bit closer. Now he's just trying to make me feel awkward enough to talk, and I don't like it.

I look over at him incredulously as he puts his chin on my shoulder. He takes puppy dog eyes to a whole new level. His eyes are round and wide, bright blue, and shining. He just stares at me with a tiny smile on his lips. I know that he's trying to help, but he's really only succeeding in annoying me. I shrug him off my shoulder. He moves his chin, but nothing else. He's still staring at me.

The annoyance slowly starts to build up. I can feel my muscles tensing, ready to either shove Thor away or crawl further down the duct. But I don't. I just sit there, waiting for him to leave. He doesn't leave. Fifteen minutes go by. I'm starting to feel really annoyed by now. I'm totally about to push him away when he puts a hand on my shoulder. When I turn to look at him I see that he doesn't have the annoying puppy dog look now. He looks sympathetic and a little bit sad. I am all too aware of the tears stinging my eyes. I blink furiously, willing them to go away. Blinking only makes them roll down my cheeks, though. I sniff as I look at him. I don't want to talk about it, but I am glad that he cares. It does help a bit to know that not everyone thinks I'm useless. 

We sit together, Thor's arm around my shoulders. He is going on about something that I'm not interested in at all. I don't even pretend to listen, but he doesn't care. He just doesn't like how quiet it is. The guy is probably the most fun in the whole tower. I get along with him best. He's funny, like me. He's talented, like me. He also has great hair. Like me. We're practically best buds.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear his shortest sentence. I shake my head a bit and look at him. He's smiling. I ask him to repeat. When he does, I smile back at him.

"I love you."

My name is Clinton Barton, and even though I haven't always been part of the team, I am loved.


	6. My Name is Tony Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony says a bit too much, gets hit a bit, and deals with the boredom by thinking through his life and his not-so-awesome choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's last but not least. I have to say, his would be a lot easier for me to write now than it was back then. All the same, I shan't change anything for the sake of retaining the authenticity. 
> 
> Warnings: Alcohol abuse, deaths of parents, weapon-making and war (ish)

My name is Anthony Edward Stark. I go by Tony, since _Anthony Edward_ is obviously too much of a mouthful. I don't like anyone calling me Anthony. That's the name my father used. I try not to remember my father too much. He wasn't cruel, really, but he was....aloof. He didn't give two shakes a rat's ass about me. He also owned a business where he invented things. My mother was sweet, but she always seemed very tired. I was quite the genius, though. Instead of doing the things that most children my age did, I stayed in my room - where I had a sort of lab - and worked on various bits of engineering. I created some small robots while I was holed away in that room. My father was only slightly interested. He cared about it, but not enough to talk to me about them. He was invested enough to pay for me to go to MIT when I was only fifteen, though. I got into the school, where I studied electrical engineering and physics. I got two masters in those fields of study when I was nineteen. So, in a sense, I didn't really have much of a childhood.

Coming back from MIT was...kind of stressful. It was hard coming back to my old life after spending so much time away from my parents. At the institute, I could do whatever I wanted. I had friends, I had women, I had booze. Not to mention all the money I could ever want. Coming home took all that away. I was still able to talk with my friends, of course, but I couldn't see them all the time. I quickly got bored, so I worked with my parents at Stark Industries. That was still boring, though. I spent all of my off time with pretty women and glass bottles. I had very few real friends. A couple years after I started working for Stark Industries, my parents were in a car accident. They both died in the wreck. When they passed, Stark Enterprises became my responsibility. That responsibility took away my freedom. I could no longer do whatever I wanted. I mean, I could have. If I had, though, the business would have gone under and I wouldn't have been rich anymore. And I liked being rich. Still do.

With the responsibility of running the place came the ability to hire who I wanted. I met Pepper shortly after I took over Stark Enterprises and hired her as my secretary-ish person. She took care of the paperwork and making appointments and whatnot. Not long after she was hired, we began our personal relationship. She was the first girl that I had really loved. Everyone else had just been pretty. But Pepper was smart, pretty, and she had attitude. She wasn't likely to take my crap. That instantly drew me to her. Lucky for me, she was willing to give me a shot at being good enough for her. I've been told before that she was almost perfect. It isn't true. She's perfect in every way.

With Pepper's help, Stark Enterprises became even more successful. I started making weapons, which she thought was a bad idea. It turns out that she was right. As always. I sold those weapons to the wrong people. These wrong people used the weapons to kill a lot of people. People who didn't deserve it. People who should have been able to live for a much longer time. Since then, I've stopped manufacturing weapons. I work on things that will hopefully help people now. Things like clean, free, reusable energy. Needless to say, Pepper is happy with the change.

Shortly after I started making these improvements to mankind, I met the Avengers. We're a kind of ragtag team of super cool people with awesome abilities and incredible brain power. We were called together to defeat Loki, Thor's crazy evil brother who was trying to take over the world. We later found out that he wasn't so bad, once he wasn't trying to kill us. He stays with us now, constantly getting on our nerves and under our skin. But all in all he's an okay guy. He's bearable, at least.

Meeting the Avengers gave me my best friend, too. Besides Pepper, that is. That best friend is Bruce Banner. He's my science buddy. I was a huge admirer of his work before I ever met him. He pioneered in the study of gamma radiation. That led to his giant green rage monster syndrome, though. That's not something he's proud of, so I usually try not to talk about it. If he has to stay on the subject of his 'other side' too long, he gets pretty upset. He doesn't mind talking about gamma, but if the subject of his condition is brought up, things can get ugly. I don't think he realizes just how valuable that side is. He's saved us all a few times. He was a huge help during the fight with Loki. I don't know what we would have done without him. I owe him my life. He saved me from an enormously big fall that would have undoubtedly killed me had he not caught me. So yeah. He's not just a cool scientist now. He's totally awesome, and my best friend.

Today is one of those days where the two best friends get into an argument and one of them turns really big and green and smashes stuff while the other tries to hide and calm him down. Things don't always work out for the smaller person. Sometimes he gets his leg hurt and he has to sit around all day. But then there are times when it isn't just the smaller guy's leg that hurts. Sometimes it's his neck and back, and he can't move. Today happens to be one of those days.

Bruce and I were in the lab, working on a few things. We had a disagreement on the subject of whether or not the Hulk was really a 'bad guy'. Bruce said that he was, since he had no control over the big guy. I didn't think that he was, since he has saved countless people - myself included.

Anyway, this argument got pretty heated. Eventually it brought out Hulk himself. Instead of being the Hulk that saved lives, he was the angry Hulk, who smashes things. This angry Hulk kind of smashed me. He got so mad that he couldn't stop. We've kind of developed a little bit of a way for Bruce to influence how Big Green and Angry reacts and what he does. Nothing worked this time. He punched through a window, threw some stuff, and pretty much completely demolished my lab. I'll have to get a new one installed. But that really wasn't what was on my mind. I was more concerned with the huge green fists coming right at me. Eventually, he caught me. I mean, there's only so much I can do to get away from a guy who takes up almost the entire room. Once all my awesome hiding places were destroyed, I had nowhere to go. He picked me up by the leg and held me up in the air. He stared me in the eye and slammed me into the remains of one of the tables in the room. A second later, he snapped out of it and shrunk back down to a normal sized person.

That brings us to where we are now, really. It's only been a day, and I have been confined to the bed. I'm only allowed to get up to go to the bathroom. And even then, I need help. So yeah, it's been pretty boring the past day. Usually I'm always moving. Always busy. Now I only get to stare at the ceiling. And there's only so much entertainment you can get from a plain ceiling. There isn't even a cool pattern on it. It's just...white. I sleep a lot. I've actually just woken up from a sweet little nap when I see Bruce sitting in a chair beside the bed. By the way he holds his head in his hands, he doesn't know that I'm awake.

I try to speak, but something is caught in my throat and all that comes out is a strange gargled sound. It gets his attention, though, and he looks over at me. It looks like he's been crying. His eyes are red and puffy, as is his nose. His glasses are crooked on his face. He looks surprised that I'm awake. He just stares for a moment. I croak again, trying again to talk. This jolts him into action and he jumps from his seat to get a glass of water. He gently holds it up to my lips and assists me in taking a small sip.

He asks if I'm okay, and I manage a small nod. He throws his arms around me, squeezing tighter than he probably should. I can't stop him, though. Honestly I wouldn't even if I could. After a moment, I feel my shoulder start to get wet. Bruce is crying again. I know this might not end well. If he gets too worked up, he could get big green and nasty again. He seems to have it under control, though. After a long hug, he pulls away and just looks at me. I'm lucky that my back isn't broken. I'd be in the hospital if it was. And I could kiss my Iron Man days goodbye. Thankfully it's just a sprain or something. Anyway, it'll heal. I know how close I was to being paralyzed, though, and so does Bruce. I can tell by the look in his eyes. He glances down at his clasped hands before looking back up at me. He still has tears shining in his brown eyes. I manage a smile, but it kinda backfires and he looks even sadder. We just sort of stare at each other for a minute. I look away when it gets to be too much. I can practically feel how he upset he is. And it really upsets me, too.

Bruce draws a breath and I can tell that he's about to speak, so I turn and look at my best friend again.

"I love you."

My name is Anthony Edward Stark, and even though I brought forth the Hulk, I am loved.


End file.
